


Growth

by WorryinglyInnocent



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, Dark!Belle, F/M, Knight!Rumple, Light!Rumple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 06:19:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7923823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorryinglyInnocent/pseuds/WorryinglyInnocent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Rumpelstiltskin had always known her as the Dark Lady. It was only much later that she told him her name.</em><br/>She had been a friend, but circumstances change: some people grow up, some do not grow old, and all grow apart…<br/>Until circumstances change again, and a knight and his unattainable love meet once more...</p><p>Based off the Monthly Rumbelling prompt "Dark!Belle and Light!Rumple".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growth

**Growth - A Monthly Rumbelling Fic**

**Rated:** G

 **Prompt:** Dark!Belle and Light!Rumpel

**Summary:** _Rumpelstiltskin had always known her as the Dark Lady. It was only much later that she told him her name._

She had been a friend, but circumstances change: some people grow up, some do not grow old, and all grow apart…

Until circumstances change again, and a knight and his unattainable love meet once more...

 **Word Count:** 3150

**Growth**

Rumpelstiltskin had always known her as the Dark Lady. It was only much later that she told him her name, that single syllable like a gift, a secret between them. _Belle_. It was a treasure, something that he had always kept close to his heart.

He was four years old when he had seen her properly for the first time, that strange woman who lived in the cottage at the very edge of their village, reviled and avoided by the entirety of the town as rumours murmured along between the residents, becoming ever louder: _witch, demon, sold her soul to the devil for love_. He had strayed too far from his own cottage in pursuit of a brightly coloured frog that had caught his attention, and had ended up on the doorstep of the Dark Lady’s home. She had been in her small vegetable garden at the time, and that was when he had first truly seen her. Brilliant blue eyes in a face of a slightly unnatural hue, just a little too greeny-greyish-blue to look like a normal woman. She froze as she saw him, and for a long while adult and child simply stared at each other. Then he saw her eyes change, that pretty cerulean darkening in wrath to soulless slate, the gaze that struck fear into even the bravest of the village men and created such a wide berth around her home.

But Rumpelstiltskin felt no fear. Simply… fascination, with this mysterious lady, the most beautiful he had ever seen in his short life so far - more beautiful than his aunts, and he did not remember his mother. So instead of running, as most other children would have done when met with this fearsome face, Rumpelstiltskin just smiled, a little shyly.

And the Dark Lady smiled back, her face softening and showing the ordinary human that she had once been, so very long ago.

It was then that Rumpelstiltskin felt a hand on his shoulder, and a stern voice scolding him as his aunts lead him firmly away from the mysterious little cottage on the edge of the village.

“We do not interact with her,” his aunts told him in no uncertain terms. “She’ll lure you out into the woods and skin you alive to make a new cloak.”

Rumpelstiltskin abided by his aunts’ rules, but their words did not have their desired effect on him. For surely, his logical child’s mind thought, someone who smiled so prettily and innocently could not be so bad.

Once he was a little grown, and was allowed to venture further away from the aunts’ cottage, it was no surprise that Rumpelstiltskin found himself heading straight for the cottage he was forbidden from nearing, and its intriguing occupant. Although bold, he was not yet so bold as to knock on her door, so he contented himself with just going to see if she was outside in her vegetable patch. On the days when she was inside, he would simply sigh and turn round in the direction of home, but on the days when he could see her, carefully tending to her potatoes and cabbages, he would linger a while, trying to catch her eye and make her smile.

He was not quite sure how long he had been making these little visits to the Dark Lady when she spoke to him for the first time.

“You’re a strange one, Rumpelstiltskin,” she said.

Rumpelstiltskin had no idea what to say in response to this comment, so he just shrugged and nodded. He knew that he was strange, it wasn’t news to him.

“All of the other children run away as soon as they see me,” she continued. “You’re either very brave or very stupid. Now, my dear, which is it?”

She turned her piercing blue eyes on him, but Rumpelstiltskin felt no fear. He had never been scared of her, not having seen the shades of the woman behind the magic.

“Boo!” she said suddenly, dropping her hoe and curling her hands into claws, her face contorting into an animalistic snarl.

Rumpelstiltskin startled and took a step back, and the corner of the Dark Lady’s mouth quirked up in a smirk as she resumed her previous aspect.

“You know who I am, don’t you boy?” she asked imperiously.

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. “The Dark Lady.”

“And you know why they call me that, I presume?”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded again. “My aunts say that you’re a witch, a dark magician.” He tilted his head on one side, looking at her curiously. He could not deny that she was a witch, it was written in her appearance, and the darkness seemed to cling to her, pulling at her skin and hair and general manner insidiously.

“And do you believe your aunts?” she asked. Rumpelstiltskin gave another nod. “And yet you don’t think that I’m frightening?”

“No.”

She seemed amused at his boldness, leaning on her hoe and smiling, the gentle smile that reminded Rumpelstilskin of a time long ago that he had not even been alive to see, a time when everything had been light and happy in the Dark Lady’s world.

“What do you think I am, then?” she asked quietly.

“I think you’re…” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say the word ‘beautiful’; the colour rose in his cheeks just thinking about the notion. “I think you’re interesting,” he finally decided upon. “Milady,” he added courteously, unsure what the correct mode of address for a fearsome sorceress was.

The Dark Lady chuckled at the title, and she beckoned him a little closer. Rumpelstiltskin went up to the fence, so close to her that he could almost feel her warm breath ruffling his hair.

“I have a name, you know,” she whispered, looking around her furtively, and Rumpelstiltskin knew in that moment that he was about to become party to a secret that no-one else in the village knew. The Dark Lady, terrifying as she was supposed to be, was entrusting him with this information, and he knew that it was something that he had to treasure. She leaned in close to his ear and whispered.

“You can call me Belle.”

Belle. It was such a lovely name, such a lovely word. Delicate and ethereal, with something a little bit magical about it. Belle. It suited the Dark Lady.

He wondered at this one simple word all the way home, and it made him smile to think that he had been let in on this secret. Names had power, everyone knew that; that was why everyone was so unnerved whenever the Dark Lady addressed them by name. But now Rumpelstiltskin had Belle’s name, and with it, he knew that he had also gained her friendship.

He continued his little visits to Belle, and called her by that lovely name whenever there was no-one else in earshot, and whenever he did, he would be gifted in return with her gentle smile, with a glimpse into the soul of the woman that the rest of the town never got to see, the woman enveloped in a darkness that kept creeping up on her. He never feared her, although the displays of her power and magic became more frequent and darker. Around the town, whispers began, that this young lad Rumpelstiltskin was the only one whom the Dark Lady cared for, that he was the only one who could quell her rages, and that perhaps he was the one who was destined to vanquish her forever.

The fact remained that Rumpelstiltskin did not want to vanquish her. She was his friend, both of them oddities among the townsfolk, somewhat drawn to each other, and as he grew up, so they grew closer, although Rumpelstiltskin never quite drew up the courage to knock on her door.

Until the eve of his thirteenth birthday, when he stole out of his aunts’ cottage under cover of darkness, taking a pink rose in bloom from their prize garden and making his way down towards the mysterious little cottage at the edge of the village, where candlelight was still burning in the windows. He had seen her stay up late into the night before, candles flickering, and there were whispers in the town that the witch never slept, a side effect of whatever satanic pact she had sealed in order to gain her phenomenal powers.

Rumpelstiltskin crept up to the front door, knocking softly. Perhaps she would not answer; not many women living alone would be foolish enough to open their doors to strangers in the middle of the night, but then the Dark Lady was not any ordinary woman. Rumpelstiltskin had known her long enough to know that.

He heard the sound of her pattering footsteps coming towards the front door, which she opened wide and without fear. She looked around, taking a step back on seeing him standing there, the rose clutched tightly in his outstretched hands with the thorns scratching his fingers.

“Rumpel?” she began. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

Now that he was standing here in front of her, Rumpelstiltskin’s mind went blank, and all the words that he had thought up to say to her on his journey down the road towards her home flew out of his head.

“I wanted you to have this,” he said, holding out the rose. Belle smiled and took it from him, shearing the thorns from the stem by magic and tucking it behind her ear in the tumbling chestnut curls that fell around her face.

“Thank you,” she said. “May I ask the occasion?”

She did not ask him why he had waited until such a late hour to present his gift. They both knew that it would not bode well for him to be seen offering her such a token of affection at a time when the rest of the town could bear witness to it. There were enough whispers about their strange friendship as it was.

“I like you,” he said simply. “Knights always give flowers to ladies they really like.”

Belle’s smile became wan, and a little sad.

“You’re sweet,” she said. “And you’re young. A little bit too young, perhaps. You’re just a boy, Rumpel.” She reached out and touched his scratched hand, healing the cuts there. “But I am very happy to accept your gift. Maybe in a few years you can bring me another, and we will see how things stand then.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded.

“That’s the other reason I’m here,” he said.

Belle inclined her head towards him, and he took a deep breath and went on.

“It’s my birthday tomorrow,” he said.

“Many happy returns.”

“I’ll be thirteen.”

Belle nodded. “Still a little bit young, Rumpel.”

“No. Yes. No. It’s not that.” He paused. “I’m to go away and learn to be a knight tomorrow. Up at the castle.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the hooting of an owl over the fields.

“You’re leaving,” Belle said quietly.

“Only for a little while,” Rumpelstiltskin protested. “I’m coming back in a few years. Then I’ll be a man, and I’ll bring you another flower.”

But it didn’t appear that Belle had heard him; she seemed like she was in a trance as she turned away from the door, the pink rose still in her hair, and he heard her mutter before the door closed behind her: _They always leave._

The next morning, as he jumped up on the cart that would take him to the castle and his new destiny, and waved goodbye to his aunts, he glanced along the lane to see if he could see Belle outside in her garden.

There was no sign of her.

X

When he returned, a young knight, strong and fit and brave, the first thing he did after greeting his aunts and filching another of their prize pink roses, was to go to the little cottage at the edge of the village, to speak to Belle again. He was a man now, and could court her as a man should. As soon as he neared her home, however, he knew that all was not well. The vegetable garden was untended, overgrown, and the little house itself had long since fallen into disrepair. He hailed a passing neighbour, and inquired as to the circumstances.

“She’s gone,” the old baker’s wife said. “She upped and left in a whirlwind of rage, not long after you went away. It was terrifying to behold.”

“Where did she go?” Rumpelstiltskin pressed.

The old baker’s wife shrugged. “Does it matter? We’re rid of her malignant presence at last. Good riddance, I say.” She paused. “I heard she was causing havoc in the Frontlands. Perhaps you could look for her there, if you’re that concerned.”

Rumpelstiltskin did not stay long in the old village. There were rumours whispering from ear to ear once more, people worrying that with his return, so the Dark Lady would also return. She had left with him, perhaps she would come back with him too. In the end, he bid farewell to his aunts and returned to the castle in the heart of Avonlea where he had received his training, unwilling to remain in a place where such sidelong looks were cast at him.

He travelled to the Frontlands, but there was no sign of Belle, and with a heavy heart, he began his work in the defence of Avonlea.

Months passed and turned into years, years passed and turned into decades, love waned and turned to despair, but still Rumpelstiltskin did not forget her, the Dark Lady he had admired for as long as he could remember.

 _Belle_.

X

It would be his last fight, he already knew that. There were knights far younger and more able than he to take his place once he finally hung up his armour and lance, but in these troubled times, they needed every man trained in combat that they could get, and the King of Avonlea had asked for Rumpelstiltskin personally to oversee this excursion into enemy territory. The war between the Frontlands and the Marchlands and Avonlea had been raging for so many years that no-one could really remember how it had begun, only that it kept getting worse and worse. Rumpelstiltskin had heard that the village of his own childhood had been burned to the ground in the latest set of raids by the Frontlanders. Before, perhaps, he might have been troubled by the occurrence, but Rumpelstiltskin had seen enough wars and had defended Avonlea for so long that he had become enured to the heartbreak that such conflict brought. There was no reason for him to grieve beyond the loss of homes of innocent people. His aunts had long since passed away, and there was no-one else in the village to whom he had been particularly attached. Not since Belle had left without trace, never to return.

The king’s spies had sent word of a dark power rising in the east in the centre of the Marchlands, allied with their enemies, and a small contingent of knights had been sent to the dread castle in the foothills of the foreboding mountains, ready to end this evil before it could cause them any further troubles.

The evil was ready for them, and the castle proved a death trap for the rest of Rumpelstiltskin’s knights. For the first time in a long time, he felt the blood begin to rage in his veins as he swore that he would continue alone, would slay the fell beast who had caused them so much pain and heartbreak, the harbinger of so much death, and at length he reached the centre of the citadel where his quarry could be found.

“I see you alone have managed to breach my impeccable defences.”

If the voice alone, so familiar despite not having heard it for so many years, had not made him freeze to the spot, then the face revealed when he caught sight of the dread evil he had been sent to eliminate would certainly have done.

She had not aged at all since he had seen her, just as she had not aged in all the time that he had been growing up. She was no older, although her face was changed. There was more darkness in it now, her appearance more otherwordly. More blue and sparkle in her skin, more unnatural fluting in her voice. The darkness that had always followed her around appeared to have caught up with her, enveloped her and eaten away at the bright, innocent smile that she had once worn. Looking at her now, it was perhaps hard to imagine that he had ever loved her, but in that moment, Rumpelstiltskin knew that in reality, he had never stopped. He did not respond to her taunt, studying her face from behind the protection of his helmet. For all she had changed, there was something in her eyes that had remained, that flicker of the kind and compassionate woman that she had once been long before he met her. That was still there, a reminder of the humanity that she had tried so hard to bury during these last few years of war and terror.

And there behind her ear, perfectly preserved by magic, was the pink rose that he had gifted her forty years before.

“I suppose you have come to kill me, Sir Knight,” she continued. “You can certainly try, but I promise I will not make it easy for you.”

Rumpelstiltskin stood motionless in the doorway, and his sword, rendered impotent in his immobility, fell from his hand.

“What’s the matter, good sir?” the Dark Lady sneered. “To have thought your way through my fortress so gallantly, only to falter at this last hurdle? Perhaps you are not so brave and bold as you would have your fellows believe.”

Finally, movement returned to his limbs. It would have been easy enough to pick up his sword and run her through; victory would be assured and glory would be his forever more; the hero who had vanquished the darkness threatening their realm and avenged the friends who had perished at its hand.

But he did not.

Instead, he removed his helmet, revealing his face to his quarry at last.

The change in the Dark Lady’s demeanour was instant, and for the first time since he had entered the room, he saw the woman he loved beneath the mask of darkness.

“Rumpel?” she said softly, her voice barely above a breath.

He replied with one word as he reached into the lining of the cloak and took out the dried rose that he had carried with him since his return to find her gone. Just one word, that treasure that he had kept so close to his heart ever since it had first been revealed to him.

“Belle.”


End file.
